"So basically, what you are saying is that we are going to act under the surveillance of that SHIELD or whatever?"
When Charles informed the X-Men of his little agreement with Maria Hill, he expected some pushback, but the collective revulsion in the room hit harder than Magneto's punch.
Scott's reaction was understandable. His past run-ins with the FBI were more 'open fire' than 'open dialogue.'
Hank, being the grizzled warhorse he was, had already done his time collaborating with Magneto and the CIA back in the good ol' Cold War days. Trust wasn't exactly his currency.
But Jean… this wasn't something he expected from her. As the mutant with the strongest psychic power to ever exist, he had been doing his best to shelter her from the world's darkness, so her being this disgusted with the government was unexpected.
Then the realization hit him. Oh. Right. Jean's been spending a little too much quality time with 'her'.
It must be said, he was very disappointed with her inability to see the big picture. "Jean, how can you make it sound that bad? Magneto's actions have caused many problems. They must be dealt with no matter what, even if it means some concessions."
Jean didn't hesitate to fire back, voice sharp with righteous fury. ""Professor, these people aren't allies. When Hill was leaving, I could hear her thoughts—she was already patting herself on the back for how 'easy' we'd be to control."
"She wasn't even subtle about it. Apparently, SHIELD's putting together their own superhero squad. We're just the backup plan—superpowered insurance to impress their bosses."
"Oh, and there's some guy named 'Fury' she thinks can either charm you into compliance or twist your arm until it snaps."
"In her head, we're not partners. We're assets. Weapons. Toys they want to lock in a box until it's time to break something."
Jean's words caused the atmosphere in the room to become even more tense. Charles had thought that SHIELD wasn't up to something good with them, but he didn't expect things to be this bad.
As for Hank and Scott, they had had their fair share of dealings with government agents and didn't have any goodwill toward them.
And sure enough—just when they were trying to save humanity, others were trying to put a collar on them.
Scott even scoffed. "Sounds about right. The moment they get what they want, they'll slap a collar on us and call it 'regulation.'"
Hank didn't say anything, but his frown deepened. You didn't need telepathy to know he was mentally calculating the odds of the government trying to 'regulate' him into a cage again.
Funny, really. They try to save humanity, and in return, humanity sends bureaucracy wearing body armor.
Charles sighed, the kind of long, quiet exhale that carried both exhaustion and disappointment. Things were proving more complicated than he'd anticipated.
None of the five X-Men were seeing the larger picture—not yet, anyway. They were smart, capable, passionate... but young.
And young people had a tendency to think the world was black and white. He knew they needed more time. More perspective.
"Alright, listen," he began, his voice calm but firm. "I need you to understand that I would never allow any of you—or any of my students—to be reduced to government tools. That's not who we are. That said... this situation is set now. We've already reached an agreement."
His words carried weight, and he knew it. The X-Men, still new to the field, looked to him not just for leadership, but for reassurance that they were on the right path.
And Charles had always kept his word. If he said something, they believed he meant it.
But Jean wasn't so quick to take it at face value.
She didn't speak up—she still respected Charles too much to openly challenge him here—but a quiet unease stirred in her.
Hela had warned her: this wouldn't be the last time they'd find themselves in a morally gray situation. If this was what counted as a 'special circumstance,' what was stopping the government from labeling every crisis as one, just to get a tighter grip on them?
Still, she held her tongue. This wasn't the time for internal fractures, not when things were already hanging by a thread.
Seeing that no one objected—at least out loud—Charles allowed himself a breath of relief. "Good. Tomorrow, you'll be working with two SHIELD agents. One is a close-quarters specialist. The other's an archer—highly skilled, precise."
He looked around the room, making sure each of them understood the stakes. "The seven of you will be responsible for targeting Magneto and his inner circle—Mystique, Toad, the usual suspects."
"The others are lower-tier mutants, enhanced but not trained. Take out the leadership, and the rest should fall apart without much resistance."
When the X-Men, SHIELD are preparing for their battle against Magneto and his Brotherhood of Mutants that's about to change the world landscape, a little girl was there in an a certain 'cage' wondering when can she be free?
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(Wanda's POV)
It has been a little more than two years since Pietro and I were taken by the men in uniforms—soldiers, they called themselves.
But there was nothing noble or honorable about them. Just weapons with faces.
Sometimes I wonder… will we ever leave this place? It's a question I don't let myself ask out loud. Hope is a dangerous thing here.
Most of the time, it's just a slow way to die. We weren't the only ones brought in, not at first. There were others—so many others. Now, from our original group, maybe five are left. Maybe less. I've stopped keeping count.
They bring us in by batches, like we're livestock waiting for inspection. Each group injected with something new, something untested.
Serums, formulas, pain disguised as progress. Some people survived the process. Most didn't. For a while, people just... disappeared. No one questioned it.
But eventually, we understood. They weren't being moved. They were being removed.
The ones who died were taken away. The ones who tried to run… they died worse.
I saw things I wish I could forget—how they made examples of them, how they screamed, how we were all forced to watch. They don't use chains to keep us here. Fear is more effective.
The only reason Pietro and I are still alive is because we were considered 'successful.'
We manifested something. Pietro became fast—faster than the eye, faster than thought. And me… I can conjure something like energy, red and unnatural, as if reality itself bends when I focus. They don't understand it. I don't either. But they want it.
We wear collars now—devices that suppress our powers unless the light turns green. That's how they control us. Green means training. Red means silence. It's simple, and it works. For everyone else, at least.
But not for me.
Even when the collar glows red, I can still feel the energy inside me, waiting. I can still reach it. I never told anyone. Not even Pietro.
Not because I don't trust him, but because I know someone is always listening. Watching. If they found out… I don't want to imagine what would happen.
I don't know why I'm different. But I do know this: if we're going to survive—really survive—I have to be patient. I have to be ready.
One day, I'll be strong enough to break these collars without effort. To silence the guards before they can speak. To make sure Pietro walks out of this place with me, alive.
Until then, I wait.
They train us for hours every day. Exhausting, endless repetition—push harder, run faster, aim better, kill quicker. They say it's to make us stronger, to perfect our abilities. But I know what they really want. Weapons. Obedient ones.
So I use the time. I learn. I endure. Because even if it looks hopeless, even if everything screams that escape is impossible… I will find a way. For me, and for Pietro.
One day, this place will fall. I don't know how long it will take. But I will make sure we walk out of here.
No matter what it takes.
END OF THE CHAPTER
I want to continue this chapter, but I'll need to change the POV again—which would make it the third abrupt shift. The reason for all these changes is that she can't officially interfere yet. But it's almost over; after this arc and the mini 'Wanda-freeing' arc, she'll finally have the ability to intervene.
And we are 17, still seven place to return to the top ten Power Stones ranking of new stories.